


Until My Head Hurts, Until I’m Out

by afterafternoons



Category: The Book of Mormon - Ambiguous Fandom, The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Brief mention of sexual assault, Depression, Implied OCD, Isolation, M/M, Night Terrors, Nightmares, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Therapy, Therapy Session, anxiety disorders, brief mention of gun violence, coping skills, current political climate, fear of gun violence, hell dreams, please read the tags, religious doubt, self doubt, therapist!chris thomas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-11 20:27:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20159596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterafternoons/pseuds/afterafternoons
Summary: “I’m scared.” Kevin says quietly, voice cracking as he casts his eyes downward. “I can’t be on my phone, I can’t watch the news. I don’t want to leave my house. Sometimes, there’s too many people and other times there’s not enough and I feel like I’m always thinking about who I have to save and if I’d even be able to, when the time comes. Things are so much worse here than they were there.”PLEASE READ THE TAGS.





	Until My Head Hurts, Until I’m Out

**Author's Note:**

> Title Credit: “Dead Things” – Emilíana Torrini.
> 
> I’ve crafted my anger and fear about the current state of things in the US into this. Please read the tags, this may be triggering to some audiences.

Kevin’s shoes squeak down the hallway; no matter how long he’d spent trying to dry them on the mat at the front door and his raincoat drips water onto the vinyl flooring despite the fact that he’s laid it over his arm. He swallows, each droplet more deafening than the last and he keeps his eyes fixated straight ahead. 

His attention is briefly taken by the sound of a swivel chair squeaking as the weight of its inhabitant is distributed and he glances through an office to his right just long enough to make eye contact with Chris Thomas, who offers a sad smile from his desk and a wave; but Kevin doesn’t stop, keeping on straight ahead after his therapist whose heels click clack down the hall.

“Thank you for coming in today, Kevin.” She says over her shoulder, the first spoken words of the session. As she leads him into her office, Kevin finds himself wincing at the creaking sound her door makes the farther she pushes it open; and when she offers to take his coat, he finds that he can’t bear to give it up just yet. 

On a normal day, his therapists office glows in the natural light that streams through the floor to ceiling windows— but today, New York is dark and stormy and her lamps are trying their best to shroud the room in an artificial yellow light. Wordlessly, Kevin sinks into the couch, playing with the zipper of the coat he draws into his lap. 

“I know today is a bad day for you.” His therapist says, pulling her chair to the front of her desk. Now, the only thing separating them is the coffee table and he watches as she nudges a box of tissues in his direction. 

Kevin opens his mouth a time or two to find the right words, the action alone causing tears to pinprick his eyes and when he does speak, his voice is hoarse from the tears he’d already spent before he’d arrived. “Thank you for making time in your schedule to see me.”

“You’re welcome.” She nods her acknowledgment, patiently leaning into the conversation. 

Kevin sucks in his lower lip, diverting his eye contact as he tries to hold himself together. Every rattle of thunder only proving this challenge to be more difficult and he has to remind himself to breathe in the meantime. “Connor told me to call Chris who told me to call you.” He explains, swallowing thickly. 

His therapist nods again, watching as he tries to distract from talking about what’s really brought him here. “It’s okay, Kevin. This is a safe space.”

“I’m scared.” He says quietly, voice cracking as he casts his eyes downward. “I can’t be on my phone, I can’t watch the news. I don’t want to leave my house. Sometimes, there’s too many people and other times there’s not enough and I feel like I’m always thinking about who I have to save and if I’d even be able to, when the time comes. Things are so much worse here than they were there.” 

“In Uganda.” His therapist replies, substituting his vague description. He nods, wiping tears out from under his eyes and he shudders at a large crack of lightning and its accompanying thunder. “The leading cause of death in America, Kevin, is heart disease. Gun violence doesn’t even make it to the top ten list. You’ve got cancer, diabetes, Alzheimers and suicide — and you’re healthy, Kevin.”

“But what if I’m in the wrong place at the wrong time?” He shakes, finally reaching for a tissue. “It’s happened before — and more than once. I still have nightmares.”

“Kevin, you can’t live your life in ‘ifs’ and ‘buts.’” She says calmly, leaning forward so he’ll hear. “I need you to continue with your daily routine, okay? You need to go to work and if Connor wants to go out for dinner, you should go with him — maybe make it a double date with Chris and his boyfriend. Let’s set some short term goals; you mentioned that it’s hard to watch the news? Take a break. It’s perfectly normal to feel overwhelmed when there’s a lack of positive stories in the media, take a break, let yourself recover and relax and go back to it when you’re ready.” 

Kevin nods in understanding, despite the fact that he’s dreading the dinner date plans they’ve had planned for the night. “I just feel like I can’t catch a break.” He says, “Everything is so loud.” 

“Progress doesn’t happen all at once, Kevin. It’s slow and gradual and you’re coping really well.” She assures him, “You’re taking deep breaths and I can see you’re self-soothing with your arms wrapped around your torso. I know it can feel embarrassing, sometimes, like a fear of heights or of water, but you’re managing very well.” 

They continue to talk, Kevin opening up about exactly what had happened in Uganda. The taste of someone else’s blood in his mouth, someone else’s blood spattered across his shirt, the gunshot that rings through his every nightmare. And later, a calloused grip on his torso and a blinding pain in his rectum. That’s the hardest to relive, sometimes it makes him recoil from intimacy, but Connor is patient and he understands. Still, Kevin can’t help but feel like he’s letting him down; but talking about all of this makes it easier for him — the world seems to quiet and he’s able to breathe better than he had been. 

“These things aren’t your fault, Kevin.” His therapist reminds him, handing him Kleenex as he sobs — red splotches growing across his skin and he nods as his body shakes. “You have an excellent support system. Your boyfriend knew you needed more help than he could provide and Chris was able to get you in with me. It’s hardest right now, when everybody’s grieving — when a motorcycle backfiring or a balloon popping sounds like a gunshot, but this too shall pass.”

“I come from a family of Republicans.” Kevin swallows, calming as he takes in long, measured breaths. “My dad and my oldest brother especially, but I have grandparents who wildly disagree with my gay lifestyle and it’s just so hard. Things need to change and I feel like nobody’s listening.” 

“That’s not true.” His therapist reminds him, reaching behind her to grab a pad of paper and a pen off her desk, “Let’s make a list of people who listen to you.” 

“Connor.” Kevin lists, “Arnold and Naba.”

“What about Chris and his boyfriend?” She asks, glancing across the coffee table to him. He nods and she adds their names to her list. “You and your mom still talk and your brother Jack, do they listen?” 

“Yeah.” Kevin breathes out, “And the rest of the guys, I guess, if I needed them to. But none of these people can change anything.” 

She nods, tearing the list away from her pad and circling her chair back behind her desk. ”So, you want to talk to someone who has the power to incite change?” She hums, nails clicking against the keyboard as she fires up her search engine. “I found a number to call your senators, would that help?” 

Kevin blows out a puff of air, running a hand down his face. Telephone calls aren’t really his thing, especially when he’s this strung out. “We’ll write down the number.” His therapist compromises, knowingly. “You’ll call when you’re ready. Baby steps, Kevin. You’re not carrying the weight of this burden by yourself, millions of American’s are in mourning.” 

“Most of the time,” Kevin sniffles, voice cracking again and he can tell he’ll probably lose it, “I think I’m better off without religion, that Uganda was an eye opening experience about how wrong I’d been to so blindly believe and other times I miss prayer. I miss how confident I was that everything was a part of Heavenly Father’s plan and that he knew what he was doing.” 

His therapist nods, “What if you found middle ground? If scripture brings you comfort, read it, but learn from what you perceive to be your mistakes and take lessons away from his teachings. Religion is tricky, Kevin. Nobody knows 100% and the hardest part, sometimes, is the believing.“ 

“I wouldn’t want to piss anyone off.” Kevin sighs, “And the Church wouldn’t take me back.” 

“Would you want to go back?” She replies, asking him to seriously consider. He shakes his head after a moment of thought, resting his elbows on his knees as he hangs his head in his hands with a groan. “You could read and pray on your own time. Don’t worry about what Connor thinks about the Church; worry about what you need to do to help yourself and I think some of your supports would be more than willing to help you ease into that middle ground. Maybe your brother or your mom?” 

Kevin nods again, numbly, but it feels like the best mode of communication lest his cracking voice betray him. “What if in helping myself I lose Connor?” He whispers, turning over a tissue in his hand. Decidedly, he studies the intricate carpet design rather than face her directly. 

“Kevin.” She says pointedly, “Neither one of us is a fortune teller, we have no way of knowing what Connor’s thinking. Speculation isn’t going to get you anywhere. It’s a dangerous game to play. Talk with Connor, hear him out and if he can’t respect your difference in opinion, maybe he’s not the one.” 

When she’s spelling out out for him like this, it almost seems ridiculous to think that Connor wouldn’t support him. Connor’s perhaps the most supportive person he knows aside from Arnold. “Tell him what you need, Kevin.” She says, glancing at her watch. “Do you want me to walk you out?” 

With a deep breath in he shakes his head, gathering his coat and the list she’d written him as he stands. “Thank you.” He adds sincerely, taking his leave. Looking like a hot mess is the least of his worries, his hair still damp from standing in the earlier rain and his face red and splotchy, eyes puffy.

“Kevin.” Chris stops him in the hallway, softer and more gentle than normal — but Kevin knows he understands that he’s fragile right now. “Is dinner still alright by you tonight?” 

And as much as he wants to put it off and wait until he feels safe in his own skin again, he finds himself nodding like his therapist had recommended. “Dinner’s fine.” He croaks and Chris’ eyebrows draw together in concern. “Hell dream.” Kevin elaborates, soft fingertips brushing his throat as he explains. “I woke up screaming and then couldn’t stop crying.” 

Chris goes to gingerly touch his elbow, stopping himself before he even makes contact afraid He might startle Kevin. “It’s happened to all of us, Kev.” He says assuredly, hand hovering before he drops it to his side. “I’ve been there, trust me.” 

Kevin nods; for the most part, he does trust Chris. “We’ll see you tonight?” He strains and Chris frowns, imagining the searing pain in Kevin’s throat every time he pushes out words. 

Connor is waiting for him when he gets back to the apartment, practically leaping over the back of the couch to greet him at the door. “How did that go?” He asks, offering to take Kevin’s coat. 

“Good.” Kevin replies, voice stretched into a thin whisper. He initiates the physical contact, pulling Connor into a hug.

Melting into Kevin’s touch, Connor hugs back before pulling away to evaluate him. Kevin knows he’s in worse shape than usual, but it’s admirable that Connor doesn’t show any disgust — just concern. “Can I make you some tea?” And rather than risk sounding ungrateful because he doesn’t actually like tea, Kevin nods because he knows it’ll help his throat. “Jack called me earlier, he wanted to know how you’re doing.” 

Upon further inspection, Kevin realizes he hadn’t checked his phone once the entire day — for better or worse. There’s a missed call and voicemail from his brother and a simple heart emoji sent, he knows, with love from Connor. “I’ll FaceTime him.” Kevin assures his boyfriend, sinking into the couch as the phone rings.

“Hey, baby brother.” Jack picks up, “I just wanted to see how you were holding up after— well, I saw the news, you know, and I just figured I’d call you.”

“I saw my therapist.” Kevin explains and he feels like he’s shouting just to be heard as his voice betrays him. “We talked.” 

“I’d hope so.” Jack quips, concern donning on him as cracks a joke anyway, “That’s what you pay her for, right?” Kevin nods, tugging on a halfhearted smile. Just enough to appreciate Jack’s humor but show he’s still hurting and Jack understands. “Look, they evacuated the mall here the other day. A sign fell, sounded like a gunshot. It’s happening all over the country.” 

“I think I want to start praying again.” Kevin swallows, trying to gauge both his brother and Connor’s reaction at the same time as Connor sinks into the couch, holding out his offering of tea. “Or reading scripture, I don’t know.”

He isn’t met with the confrontation he’d expected, instead with patient, listening ears waiting for elaboration. “I just . . . feel empty, I guess. For so long every issue I had, I just trusted Heavenly Father would sort everything out for me and every question I had had some sort of answer in text. I just think I need that.” He explains pressing through his splintering voice, “Not that you guys aren’t important to me or that I don’t confide in you and I don’t want to go back to the church, believe me. I just need something.” 

Connor nods next to him and through the screen, Jack opens his mouth to speak. “I think you need to stop talking.” He suggests, “But whatever you want to do, Kev. I support you.” 

“Whatever you need.” Connor agrees, squeezing his knee. “But for heaven’s sake you sound like shit, Price.” And Kevin laughs, trading Connor his phone for the mug of tea. 

“But you’re feeling fine?” Jack asks sincerely, “The kids miss you.” 

Kevin nods over the mug. “I miss them too.” He mouths and Jack gets the hint. 

“Don’t ever be afraid to call, Kev.” Jack says, signing off. “Love you.” 

As soon as he’s hung up, Connor slides the phone onto the coffee table and turns to face Kevin. His hand gingerly resting on Kevin’s knee. “Do you have any copies of the book or do we need to go find one?” He asks and he’s not being patronizing or demeaning, but rather genuine and sincere. 

“I have a copy of the book.” Kevin says, grimacing as he sips the tea and Connor shares a knowing smile, with a light squeeze to his knee and a gentle pat as if to encourage him to keep drinking. 

“I’m glad we’re only eating at Chili’s.” Connor remarks, “That way we can set you up with a kids placemat and a set of crayons and you don’t have to keep pushing it.” 

Kevin feels like a bobble head all the nodding he’s done for the day, but he feels calmer now than he had when he’d woken from a fitful sleep. Finishing the tea, he reaches for his phone. “I’m sorry.” He texts Connor, who’s face twists in confusion as he produces his own phone from his back pocket. 

“For what?” Connor asks out loud, watching Kevin’s fingers fly across the small keypad. 

“For waking you up.” Kevin explains with another ping of Connor’s cellphone, “For screaming and crying.” 

“Kevin.” Connor frowns, squeezing his knee so Kevin’ll meet his eyes, “You don’t have to apologize. One bad night is not the end of the world — a thousand sleepless nights even. We’re all trying our best.” 

Kevin offers a small, grateful smile. Everything feels okay now, his crisis has passed and he can finally breathe again. “We all have bad days.” Connor reminds him, gently taking his face in his hands and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I don’t love you any less. I know you’re scared and afraid and I know sometimes I can’t help you, but I promise that I’ll always find someone who can.” 

Kevin offers a small smile in return, collecting a second kiss and he squeezes in a nap on the couch before Connor’s waking him gently for dinner. “How’s your voice?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed as he ties his shoes. 

“Shot.” Kevin says in a cracked whisper and Connor frowns, reaching to squeeze Kevin’s hand before they’re scrambling to get dressed up enough to go out. He finds himself leaning heavily into Connor as they walk and he’s a little weary when they find themselves waiting on the doorstep of Chris’ apartment building for the couple to join them, but he focuses his breathing and only jumps a time or two when a trashcan topples over or a car starts up on the road behind them. Soothingly, Connor runs a hand up and down Kevin’s arm every time he jumps. 

“Hey guys.” James greets, Chris in tow as they descend the stairs. 

“How’s your voice?” Chris unknowingly repeats Connor’s earlier question. 

“Gone.” Kevin illustrates for James’ who hadn’t heard him earlier in the day when his voice had been holding on by a thread. 

“We’re getting him a kiddie menu and some crayons for communication.” Connor half jokes as they walk down the street. Walking is always the preferred mode of transportation — they’d done it so much back in Uganda that they didn’t see any reason to stop other than to prevent Chris’ terrible road rage in New York City traffic. 

Their waitress is kind enough to play along, dropping off a kids menu and box of crayons for Kevin who blazes through the free space and starts writing on napkins of which James makes sure they don’t waste by using them to clean his hands and it’s a good night, Kevin realizes, the more he focuses on the company and the food and not the possibilities. 

“Do you feel better than you did this morning?” Connor asks, box of takeout in hand as they walk back. 

“I feel more accomplished.” Kevin offers, knowing he’ll have to rest in the days to come. “I’m trying to be present, like she suggested, and I’m trying not to spiral into thinking about the possibilities of any given situation.” 

“Kev,” Connor says softly, intertwining their fingers as they walk, “if you’re ever overthinking something and you think I’m going to be mad or upset with you, don’t let the version of me you have in your head bully you. Don’t ever be afraid to talk to me, the real me.”

Kevin nods dutifully and he’s not cured by any means, but he feels fulfilled after pushing himself out of his comfort zone for the day and for getting some of his anxieties off of his chest in session with his therapist; and later confronting Connor and Jack about his plans.

**Author's Note:**

> I know I promised new, longer works; but this is what I have for you right now. I had something to say and this is how I chose to say it and I’m sorry if I offended anyone. 
> 
> Comments & Kudos appreciated. 
> 
> I can be found on Tumblr & Twitter @afterafternoons.


End file.
